The Gathering Storm - Robert Jordan

There. Let Rand think about that.

"Unassuming," Rand said musingly. "Yes, I suppose he is still that. But peaceful? Perrin is no longer too . . . peaceful."

So he had been in touch with Perrin recently. Light! How had Cadsuane known, and how had Nynaeve missed those communications? "Rand, if you have Perrin working on something for you, then why have you kept it secret? I deserve to—"

"I haven't been meeting with him, Nynaeve," Rand said. "Calm yourself. There are simply things that I know. We are connected, Perrin, myself and Mat."

"How? What do you—"

"That is all I will say on it, Nynaeve," Rand interrupted, slicing into her sentence with soft words.

Nynaeve settled back, gritting her teeth again. The other Aes Sedai spoke of being in control of their emotions, but obviously they didn't have to deal with Rand al'Thor. Nynaeve could be calm too, if she weren't expected to manage the most bullheaded fool of a man who had ever put on a pair of boots.

They rode in silence for a time, the overcast sky hanging above them like a distant field of graymoss peat. The meeting place with the Border-landers was a nearby crossroads. They could have Traveled directly there, but the Maidens had prevailed upon Rand to arrive a short distance out and approach more carefully. Traveling was extremely convenient, but it also could be dangerous. If your enemies knew where you would appear, you could open a gateway and find yourself ambushed by a line of archers. Even sending scouts through the gateway first wasn't as safe as Traveling to a spot where nobody was expecting you.

The Aiel learned, and adapted, quickly. Surprising, really. The Waste was terribly unvaried; every part looked just about the same. Of course, she had overheard some Aiel guards saying something similar about the wetlands.

This particular crossroads hadn't been important in years. If Verin or one of the other Brown sisters had been there, they'd likely have been able to explain exactly why. All Nynaeve knew was that the kingdom which had once held this land had fallen long ago, and the only remnant was the independent city of Far Madding. The Wheel of Time turned. The most grand of kingdoms fell, rusted and eventually changed into lazy fields, ruled only by farmers determined to grow a particularly good crop of barley. It had happened to Manetheren, and it had happened here. Great highways that had once transported legions now dwindled to obscure country roads in need of maintenance.

As they continued, Nynaeve let Moonlight fall back from Rand's position. That placed her riding near Narishma, with his dark, braided hair, bells tinkling on the ends. He wore black, like most Asha'man, and the Sword and Dragon twinkled on his collar. He'd changed in the months since being bonded as a Warder. She could no longer look at him and see a boy. This was a man, with the grace of a soldier, the careful eyes of a Warder. A man who had seen death and fought Forsaken.

"You're a Borderlander, Narishma," Nynaeve said. "Do you have any idea why the others left their posts?"

He shook his head, scanning the landscape. "I was a cobbler's son, Nynaeve Sedai. I know not the ways of lords and ladies." He hesitated. "Besides, I'm not a Borderlander anymore." The implication was clear. He would protect Rand, no matter what other allegiances tugged at him. A very Warder-like way of thought.

Nynaeve nodded slowly. "Do you have any idea what we're riding into?"

"They'll keep their word," Narishma said. "A Borderlander would sooner die than break his word. They promised to send a delegation to meet with the Lord Dragon. They'll do just that. I wish we'd been allowed to bring our Aes Sedai, though."

Reports held that the Borderlander army included thirteen Aes Sedai. A dangerous number: the number needed to still a woman or gentle a man. Thirteen women in a circle could shield the most powerful of channelers. Rand had insisted that the delegation that came to meet him include no more than four of those thirteen Aes Sedai; in return, he promised to bring no more than four channelers. Two Asha'man— Narishma and Naeff—Nynaeve and Rand himself.

Merise and the others had thrown the Aes Sedai equivalent of a fit— it involved a lot of downturned lips and questions like "Are you certain you want to do that?"—when Rand had forbidden them to come.

Nynaeve noted Narishma's tense posture. "You don't look as if you trust them."

"A Borderlander's place is guarding the Border," Narishma said. "I was a cobbler's son, and yet I was trained with the sword, spear, bow, axe and sling. Even before joining the Asha'man, I could best four out of five trained southern soldiers in a duel. We live to defend. And yet they left. Now, of all times. With thirteen Aes Sedai." He glanced at her with those dark eyes of his. "I want to trust them. I know them for good people. But good people can do the wrong thing. Particularly when men who can channel are involved."

Nynaeve fell silent. Narishma had a point, though what cause would the Borderlanders have to harm Rand? They'd fought the encroachment of the Blight and its Shadowspawn for centuries, and the struggle against the Dark One was imprinted on their very souls. They wouldn't turn against the Dragon Reborn.

The Borderlanders had a special honor about them. It could be frustrating, true, but it was who they were. Lan's reverence for his homeland— particularly when many other Malkieri had abandoned their identity—was part of what she loved about him. Oh, Lan. I'll find someone to help you. I won't let you ride into the Shadow's jaws alone.

As they neared a small green hill, several Aiel returned from scouting. Rand pulled the group to a halt, waiting for the cadin'sor-clad scouts to pad up to him, several wearing the red headbands marked with the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. The scouts weren't winded, despite the fact that they'd run all the way ahead to the meeting place and then back.

Rand leaned forward in his saddle. "Did they do as I asked? Did they bring no more than two hundred men, no more than four Aes Sedai?"

"Yes, Rand al'Thor," said one of the scouts. "Yes, they kept to your requirements admirably. They have great honor."

Nynaeve recognized the strange Aiel brand of humor in the tone of the man's response.

"What?" Rand asked.

"One man, Rand al'Thor," the Aiel scout said. "That is all that their 'delegation' consists of. He's a short little thing of a man, though he looks like he knows how to dance the spears. The crossroads is behind this hill."

Nynaeve looked ahead. Indeed, now that she knew to look, she could see another road running up from the south, presumably meeting with theirs just beyond the hill.

"What manner of trap is this?" Naeff asked, riding up beside Rand, his lean, warrior's face concerned. "An ambush?"

Rand held up a hand for silence. He kicked his gelding into motion, and the scouts kept up without a word of complaint. Nynaeve was nearly left behind; Moonlight was a far more placid animal than she would have chosen for herself. She'd have words with the stable master when she returned to Tear.

They rounded the hillside, finding a dusty square of ground, scarred by old firepits where caravans had stopped for the night. A roadway smaller than the one they'd been using twisted up to the north and down to the south. A solitary Shienaran man stood in the center, where roads met, watching the oncoming procession. His shoulder-length gray hair hung loose around a lean face which complemented his wiry build. His round face was lined with marks of age; his eyes were small, and he seemed to be squinting.

Hurin? she thought with surprise. Nynaeve hadn't seen the thief-taker since he'd accompanied her and a group of others back to the White Tower following the events at Falme.

Rand reined in his horse, allowing Nynaeve and the Asha'man to catch up. Aiel fanned out like leaves blown before a gust of wind, taking up watchful positions around the crossroads. She was fairly certain that both of the Asha'man had seized the Source, and likely Rand had as well.

Hurin shuffled uncomfortably. He looked much as Nynaeve remembered him. A tad more gray in the hair, but wearing the same simple brown clothing, with a sword-breaker and a shortsword at his waist. He had tied a horse to a fallen log nearby. The Aiel watched it suspiciously, as others might watch a pack of guard dogs.

"Why, Lord Rand!" Hurin called, voice uneven. "It is you! Well, you've certainly come up in the world, I must say. Good to—"

He cut off as he was raised from the ground. He made an "urk" of surprise, being turned on unseen weaves of Air. Nynaeve suppressed a shiver. Would seeing men channel ever stop bothering her?

"Who chased after you and me, Hurin," Rand called, "the time when we were trapped in that distant shadow land? What nationality of men did I fell with the bow?"

"Men?" Hurin asked, voice almost a squawk. "Lord Rand, there were no men in that place! None that we met, beyond Lady Selene, that is. All I remember are those frog beasts, the same ones folk say those Seanchan ride!"

Rand spun Hurin around in the Air, regarding him with cold eyes. Then he urged his mount closer. Nynaeve and the Asha'man did as well.

"You don't believe that I'm me, Lord Rand?" Hurin asked as he hung in the air.

"I take very little as it is presented to me, these days," Rand said. "I assume the Borderlanders sent you because of our familiarity?"

Hurin nodded, sweating. Nynaeve felt a stab of pity for the man. He was absolutely devoted to Rand. They had spent a lot of time together, chasing down Fain and the Horn of Valere. On the return trip to Tar Valon, she'd seldom been able to stop Hurin from gossiping about this or that grand feat that Rand had accomplished. Being treated this way by the man he idolized was probably very unsettling for the lean thief-taker.

"Why only you?" Rand asked quietly.

"Well," Hurin said, sighing. "They did tell you—" He hesitated, seeming distracted by something. He sniffed audibly. "Now that. . . that's strange. Never smelled that before."

"What?" Rand asked.

"I don't know," Hurin said. "The air ... it smells like a lot of death, a lot of violence, only not. It's darker. More terrible." He shuddered visibly. Hurin's ability to smell violence was one of those oddities that the Tower couldn't explain. Not something related to the Power, yet obviously not quite natural either.

Rand didn't seem to care what Hurin smelled. "Tell me why they sent only you, Hurin."

"I was saying, Lord Rand. See, this here, we're to discuss terms."

"Terms regarding your armies moving back where they belong," Rand said.

"No, Lord Rand," Hurin said uncomfortably. "Terms for setting up a real meeting with them. That part in their letter was kind of vague, I guess. They said you might be angry to find only me here."

"They were wrong," Rand said, voice softer. Nynaeve found herself straining to hear him, leaning forward.

"I no longer feel anger, Hurin," Rand said. "It serves me no useful function. Why would we need 'terms' to meet together? I presumed that my offer to bring only a small force would be acceptable."

"Well, Lord Rand," Hurin said, "you see, they really want to meet with you. I mean, we came all this way—marched through the bloody winter itself, my pardon, Aes Sedai. But it was the bloody winter And a bad one, although it took a long time getting to us. Anyways, we did that coming for you, Lord Rand. So you see, they want to meet with you. Very badly."